


submersion

by ivelostmyspectacles



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Awkward Sexual Situations, Canon Asexual Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Sexual Content, Sensory Overload
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 15:25:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19112476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivelostmyspectacles/pseuds/ivelostmyspectacles
Summary: Jon breaks a boundary.It reminds him boundaries are usually there for a reason.





	submersion

**Author's Note:**

> tagging this is hard, but to warn re plot: basically it's your ace character getting overwhelmed by (poorly decided, but completely consensual!) sexual content. Jon gets really uncomfortable, Martin's uncomfortable, the whole situation itself is uncomfortable. if you're looking for Hot Porn, this ain't it!

For all of the things that had tried to kill him since he’d assumed the mantle of Head Archivist, it might be the insomnia that would actually succeed.

He wouldn’t stay in bed, usually. There was plenty to do. There was always _something_ to do, and if his mind was going to be busy anyway, he may as well be working. But that was harder to do when Martin was there, arm slung about his waist. Martin got _fussy–_ a word for it– when he got out of bed to do menial tasks that were not meant to be done at… Jon squinted at the clock, blurry neon slowly morphing into actual numbers… 1:37 in the morning.

God, it was almost two. Jon puffed out a breath and shifted, rolling his shoulders back in an effort to ease the ache growing in his spine from _this,_ laying here, unmoving, for the better part of three hours.

It, unfortunately, had the effect of causing Martin to stir as well. Or maybe he’d been awake all along. Jon was a terrible guess at that thing. “Jon…? Can’t sleep…?” He’d probably been at least somewhat asleep. His voice was groggy, deep like all the mornings Jon had gotten to the Institute early and startled Martin from sleep during that messy time he’d been living there. Still fairing better than Jon was, though, at this point.

Jon sighed. “No.” No use hiding it now. He shifted again; Martin rolled over onto his back and Jon was free to stretch his aching limbs without fear of waking him up. “Although, if you’ve suggestions, I’ll– ugh– gladly take them.”

“Ummmm…” Martin yawned. “Er. I dunno. Warm milk and cinnamon…?”

Probably, it was to Martin’s benefit that Jon caught his yawn, because his noise of disgust ended up garbled by it.

“Oh, right.” Martin chuckled. “Forgot you hate hot milk for some reason… um. Uh.” He scrubbed his hands against his face. Another tiny, tired noise of laughter. “I mean, a good wank always does it for me.”

“Hm.” He’d forgotten about that. Evidently, it was _foolproof,_ according to the time he’d walked in on Tim ‘having a nap’ in documents storage. Jesus.

“Although, ‘s not probably a good suggestion–”

“I’ll try anything at this point,” Jon interrupted, and Martin stilled at his side. “Well, sans milk and cinnamon.”

“Oh. Um. God.” He couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not, but he sounded embarrassed. “That wasn’t– Jon, I didn’t mean–”

“I wasn’t taking it as _word of God,_ Martin.” It had been awhile. Maybe it really would put him out. “You’re fine.”

“Right, do you, um… s–should I go? I can go to the couch–”

“Don’t be stupid. I need the– er, yeah, the lubricant’s on your side.”

“Right.” Martin cleared his throat. “Do you… um, glasses?”

“I think I can find my cock without them.”

Martin made a choked noise, and quickly rolled to the bedside table. “I– Christ, Jon. I don’t know how to react to you sometimes.”

“You’re just half asleep.”

“You are, too!” Martin protested. “How are you together but I’m not when we’re both half asleep?”

“Probably because I haven’t _been_ to sleep.” He flipped the top on the bottle, some brand Martin had picked out and brought over because it was all lost on Jon. “Let’s remedy that, hopefully,” he said, and then slipped his arm beneath the covers.

Martin’s voice was still strangled when he said, “right.” Jon was beginning to think he was the more embarrassed out of the two, and he _wasn’t_ the one with his hand around his cock. But then, that was pretty on par with Martin, and nice in its way.

But Jon didn’t want to think very much about it. He tended to not want to think at all when he was doing this. It was easier, and just about one of the only things that actually put him out of his head to begin with.

“Is it… um. Can I… watch?”

He dragged in a breath through his teeth. “What’s to see?” It was dark. But then, that wasn’t a confirmation or denial. “I’m fine with either, Martin, I… assure you. We’ve had _sex.”_

Technique was easy. That was all it was, really. Technique, the placement of fingers– emulating the way Martin touched him, a bit, these days– movement, pressure. Steps. It was all steps. Following those steps right to the top, the rise of sensation reaching the climax in one of those old statements, although those feelings were… _distinct_ in their feelings. A similar type of thrill, though. Something to make him forget all else.

“Sex is different.” Martin had propped himself up on an elbow, watching Jon in the dark. “This is… I don’t know, it’s _more.”_

“How is masturbation more than _sex?”_

“I don’t know, because you’re… more open? Exposed?”

“I’m not even _naked.”_

“I don’t _know._ I just feel like it is– just…” Martin groaned, covering his face. “D’you _generally_ argue when you’re having it off?”

It was so very patently ridiculous that Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t generally _talk,_ Martin,” he said, pressing his head back in the pillow, “considering it is, by definition– a _solo affair.”_

The spluttered noise Martin made in reply might have been a laugh of its own. Jon chanced a sideways glance, knowing he was watching– and he was, through his fingers, over the hand he was still holding up to his face like _he_ was the one who _ought_ to be embarrassed. Jon wondered if he was watching his face, or his hand moving beneath the covers, or if he _liked_ any of it. It was too difficult to make out his expression, but… probably, to some of it. Probably to all of it. Martin was wonderfully predictable, sometimes.

“Okay, my cue to shut up, I got it.” His voice wasn’t serious.

Jon still felt the need to respond, though. “You don’t–” His breath was exasperation and exhilaration, and pulled short before it could turn into something like a moan. _He_ really wasn’t one for noise. “You don’t have to. Shut up. That is.” Another short breath. “If you don’t want to.”

“It’s…” Martin shifted. “It’s maybe better if I do?” he admitted. “Maybe just for now.”

“Right.”

“Watching is… this is good. Trust me.”

 _There’s nothing to see,_ Jon thought, again, but the discussion wasn’t worth it, and he didn’t think he could continue it, anyway. Not only was he running out of breath, he was running low on rational thought as well.

Maybe that was embarrassing. He wasn’t sure. But he never had been able to draw out it once he’d gotten hard, even now. The one time Georgie had gotten him off while they’d been together had happened even more quickly than he’d expected. Then again, his lack of partaking in general probably had something to do with about how long he could last.

It didn’t matter. It was release, to him. Rarely anything more.

… actually, he’d forgotten how disgusting the whole process was, when the endorphins crashed and he was uncomfortable and sticky in more ways than just sweat. Damn. He was still shaking when he reached for the packet of tissues to wipe his fingers off.

“Christ, Jon.” Oh. He’d almost forgotten about Martin. He’d flinched a little when he spoke. “Okay, yeah, that was… that was really hot.” At least _he_ sounded… intrigued. _Aroused._

Jon made a face before he could stop himself. Martin didn’t seem to notice, probably all wide-eyed wonder and hard himself, Jon didn’t know. All he knew was that Martin was leaning in to him, probably to comfort him or kiss him or… _something,_ and all he could think about was how _goddamn sweaty_ he was and how he didn’t want to move or breathe or touch or _be_ touched.

He managed to snap a hand up to stop him, and Martin jerked to a halt.

Shit. Right. The reminder of _why_ he didn’t get off as much as the rest of the male population seemed to brag about. He truly felt terrible afterwards.

“Jon…?”

He kept the hand there to deter him, as if Martin would touch him _now,_ and draped his other arm over his eyes. Tried to breathe a bit. Tried to catch his breath.

It wasn’t guilt. Well, _now_ it was, a little, feeling Martin’s concern _radiating_ from next to him. But it wasn’t guilt for getting off. It wasn’t shame. Georgie had tried to talk him through it, once, until it became clear it was just _genuinely_ uncomfortable and had effectively put a halt to their nearly nonexistent sex life. Jon hadn’t minded.

It was different, a little, with Martin. They did this sort of thing. Jon much preferred to focus on _Martin,_ rather than have Martin focus on _him,_ but they even had sex, sometimes. He didn’t consider himself averse to the practice, but… maybe Martin had been right. Maybe masturbation truly _was_ more open.

“Jon,” Martin repeated. “Do you– should I– should I go?”

_No._

_Yes._

He didn’t _know._ All he knew was that he was hot, and sweating, loathe to move at all because it would only exacerbate the feeling. His own fault. He should have kicked the blankets off. He shifted minutely, and grit his teeth at the damp of his shirt sticking to his back. He wasn’t aware of making a noise, but he must have, but Martin was scrambling up in the next second, babbling frantic apologies and something about leaving him alone for awhile.

“No,” Jon ground out. It got Martin to stop moving, at least. “I’m… just. Need a minute.”

“… okay,” Martin mumbled. “Is there… is there something you need…? Or… I don’t know, Jon, I’m _sorry–”_

He shook his head slightly. God, even that movement felt horrible. His hair was stuck to the back of his head from the heat of the pillow. He wanted to push the blankets away– finally– for air, but, still, too much. Asking Martin to do it for him would be ludicrous.

“A shower?” Martin asked. “Like, a cool shower? I mean, I know you already, um, came, but… sorry, I just… I know you’re uncomfortable and don’t know how to fix it.”

… that was a thought, maybe. Cool water sounded like bliss. It would probably destroy the last chance of him getting any sleep tonight, but he absolutely _had_ to wash his hands regardless, so… “… yeah,” he rasped, and then, clearing his throat, “yes, thank you.”

“Oh! Okay. Good! I’ll get the water running for you. Then you can just… wash down, a bit, and I’ll… make myself some tea. Or milk, maybe. Do you want any? Or– or maybe just water, if you’re feeling too…”

“… overwhelmed,” Jon mumbled. He _almost_ managed to make it sarcastic.

“It’s okay if you are.” The mattress shifted as Martin got to his feet. “You’re allowed to be. You just need a minute. It’s not your fault, anyway.” Implying he thought it was _his._ But Martin was already carrying on before Jon could even think to argue. “I’ll get the shower running, gimme just a sec.”

Martin was probably giving them _both_ a minute to collect themselves by going to turn on the shower. Jon… appreciated it, he thought. Finally sagging into the mattress, finally moving his arms to scrub the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. _“Stupid.”_ The word for the night. Not sleeping, ruining Martin’s night as well. Stupid. He shoved his hands back through his hair, and steeled himself to kick off the sheets and walk to the bathroom.

“I’m–” Martin nearly walked into him in the hall. “Oh, there you are. I’m gonna– tea. Do you want some for, for after?”

Jon shook his head.

“Right. Okay! I’ll go. Take your time.”

… right. He’d have to fix that, too. The broken pieces of Martin, he thought, watching as the man practically fled for the kitchen. Later. It was beyond him right now.

He took his shower just shy of cold, bracing his shoulder against the tile to steady himself until his legs stopped shaking.

He was overreacting. But such was his lot with being the way he was, he supposed; his libido– lack thereof– never seemed to settle on exactly _which_ state it preferred to be in. Or how it would react regardless. How _he_ would react regardless. On an occasion, interested in the proceedings; another, falling to pieces by way of touching himself. Nothing was simple, and sex wasn’t _easy._

But maybe it was that perfect cocktail, like the one he’d been thinking of earlier, made up of all the wrong things. Everything that could have gone wrong in this equation, had. A long day. A lack of sleep. An _audience,_ nevermind if he was comfortable around Martin (he was.) The sticky heat beneath the blankets and the weight of the situation pressing down on his chest along with it.

Yes. Stupid.

But the soap had washed away the grime, and the water had cleared the fog from his head. He was _fine._ All he really needed now was sleep. Well, and–

“… Martin.” He had to raise his voice to be heard over the spray of the shower, but his flat was small and Martin was always listening.

“Yeah?”

Jon tilted his face into the spray of the shower, closing his eyes to wait.

Shortly, a knock at the bathroom door. “… Jon?”

“Come in.”

Another moment of silence, _hesitation,_ Jon thought wearily, and the door opened. “Yeah?”

He took a breath, and pushed the curtain aside slightly with the back of his hand. Blunted his voice into a question, this time. “Come in?” He wondered if he looked as sheepish as he felt. He hoped he didn’t, but suspected it was moot.

Martin blinked, once and then rapidly, eyes bouncing between Jon’s wet hair and his face. “Shower, you mean?”

“If the idea of a two am shower doesn’t put you off,” Jon said, pulling back. “Anymore than _that_ display did, anyway.”

“Don’t do that,” Martin retorted, much more immediate than Jon had… expected, really. “You didn’t put me _off,_ you just… scared me, I guess. I still don’t think you get how upset _I_ get when _you’re_ upset. Even if it doesn’t involve sex stuff. But especially if it involves sex stuff, since we’ve talked about this before and I _know_ a lot of it makes you uncomfortable.”

“It’s unpredictable, Martin,” he said tiredly. “I haven’t felt this way any other time, with you.”

“I _know,_ I know, obviously I know, and I’m glad that you like it when we… do things. Really glad,” Martin said, a touch awkward. “But just because one thing works–”

“I know,” Jon interrupted. Or, at least, he was learning. “That asides, it was probably poor timing.”

“I think we probably don’t need to try that again. At least, definitely not like this.” Martin paused, and then, “… are you sure you want me to–”

“Yes, Martin.”

“Right.” Another beat of hesitation, and then Martin shifted the shower curtain enough to step into the shower. “Are y– oh, _Christ,_ that’s _cold,_ Jon.”

He huffed a tiny laugh, shifting to adjust the taps. “Sorry. I suppose I just got used to it.”

“Oh God– yeah, I mean, sure.” He carefully edged back under the stream, pulling his nose up even as the water warmed. “Talk about a cold shoulder.”

“Hm.”

“Are you…”

“I’m okay.”

“That wasn’t _okay,_ Jon.” He worried his lip for a moment, one of those bad habits Jon had noticed only after they’d started dating, and held up a hand. “Can I touch you?”

“You don’t need to ask.”

“I’m _asking._ Can I touch you?”

“Yes, Martin.” It was slightly surprising how much he… appreciated the overbearing quality of the question. Very surprising. “I’d like that, actually, right now.”

“Okay.”

The motion was a little stiff at first, his hands settling about his arms and then just… pulling him in against his chest. Jon went with a tiny huff of air, more pleased surprise than anything else. He turned his face into Martin’s neck, and slid his arms up along his back. He _did_ like this. Hugging was only as intimate as they made it, naked or not. The press of Martin’s skin, warm and encompassing, was comforting, not pressuring.

“God,” Martin said suddenly, passing his thumb along Jon’s shoulder, “you’re covered in goosebumps.”

“Am I?” That was nice, Martin’s hand along his arm. Maybe he had had the water too cold, but it had served its purpose.

 _“Yes.”_ Martin groaned, pulling him further under the water. “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

“You don’t get sick from being cold.”

“You can catch hypothermia.”

“I’m not catching hypothermia in my _shower.”_

“You could catch hypothermia from the Institute’s shower,” Martin muttered. “But, anyway, let me know when you wanna go back to bed? I, er, found your linens, hope you don’t mind, and changed the sheets.”

Jon blinked at the tile beyond Martin’s shoulder. “You… really didn’t need to do that.”

Martin shrugged. “You looked uncomfortable, and fresh sheets are nice. They feel nice. Thought you’d like to come back to them.”

“I…” Jon swallowed, pressing his face a little further into Martin’s neck. “Thank you, Martin,” he said, muffled and awkward and _genuine._ So much more than he could say, honestly, and it was really a good thing Martin never really seemed to _need_ him to say it in the first place. Jon was lucky that Martin was so good at reading the silence. God knew Jon wasn’t good at _talking._

“No worries,” Martin chirped. His hands against his arms were just as warm as his voice, and Jon could feel the chill even less than he had before.

 

Fresh sheets _were_ nice. Slipping between them was heavenly, and settling in against Martin and his old, worn t-shirt was familiar, and usual, and good.

It was probably his meltdown more than anything, but Jon chose to believe _Martin_ was the reason he finally, _finally_ dozed off shortly after returning to bed. He didn’t say as much come morning, but he held Martin’s hand a little tighter, and liked to think Martin understood, anyway.

Martin was his constant, and he always seemed to know.

 

**Author's Note:**

> so if you've read my other ace fics, you know I'm all about good and healthy ace relationships! but you know? relationships aren't always easy! or good! or necessarily healthy! especially when you've got characters who are emotionally shut down, like Jon, who is used to a) not communicating and b) pushing through. and people make bad decisions. exhausted, exasperated people make bad decisions at two in the morning, but even besides that? people can be okay with something in one moment and then realize that they AREN'T afterwards. sometimes, people realize things too late. that's human! and that's okay!
> 
> and, speaking a bit more personally?? being ace and managing your expectations with anything related to sex is a bit _weird._ a lot weird. a LO T WE IR D


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